The Butler Did It
by AbstractConcept
Summary: The war is over, and now Harry has it made. He should be happy, but there’s a certain sense of dissatisfaction—until he gains control of one Lucius Malfoy.


**TITLE**: The Butler Did It  
**AUTHOR: **AbstractConcept (aka theconcept)  
**BETA**: The languid ladyeonen, and all further mistakes are mine.  
**NOTES: **For the Shameful Secrets Fest hosted by angsty LuciusxHarry. More or less HBP compliant, no particular spoilers. Sorry I couldn't make it more lyrical—as always, it came out encumbered by humour.  
**SUMMARY**: The war is over, and now Harry has it made. He should be happy, but there's a certain sense of dissatisfaction—until he gains control of one Lucius Malfoy.

**The Butler Did It**

Harry watched impassively as everything was readied for the kiss. His face was carefully blank. It was horrible to be surrounded by Dementors again, and he'd come to have no taste for retribution or vengeance. Still, he was the hero, the man who'd defeated the Dark Lord, and it was his duty to attend.

The rain blurred Harry's vision through his glasses. There was a small sound to his right, and he turned to see Lucius Malfoy walking toward him, leaning on his cane rather more heavily than he once did. "Mister Malfoy," he said with a cool nod.

"Your Royal Highness," Lucius responded acerbically. He was doubtlessly unhappy to be back at Azkaban, even if he got to leave after the execution. His face was lined from his time there, and his temples had greyed.

"Please, don't," Harry said quietly. "It's not as though I want to be here, either."

"You've never been trapped here," the man responded.

"You were _lucky _to be trapped here," Harry informed his old nemesis. "You were here when the worst of the war happened. You were here when the worst of the _crimes _happened, and because you were here, you served your sentence, and now you're free. If you'd been able to follow your Master, you'd be dead—or about to die," he added, nodding to the Dementors.

Lucius seemed to freeze up at that. "You think yourself clever, to say such things?"

"No," Harry countered. "I'm not here to laugh at you. It's a sad day for all of us. It's a waste. Anyway, I still don't think he deserves _this_."

Lucius threw a look like a knife at him. "Then _do something about it_," he growled. "Stop this thing happening. You have that power—you have the ear of the Ministry and everyone else. They'll listen to you!" Lucius grabbed his arm. A few of the Aurors present began to make their way over, their eyes appraising the elder Malfoy, but Harry waved them away. "I'm begging you," Lucius told him through gritted teeth, the words wrapped in self-loathing. "My wife is dead, my home confiscated; _do not let them take my boy from me!_"

Harry shut his eyes. He tried to have nothing to do with the Ministry. He hated bureaucracy, he hated politics, lies and vicious self-promotion. He hated the fame that opened doors everywhere. He never used it, if he could help it. "I'll speak with the Minister, but the price will be high."

Lucius stared at him for a long, breathless moment. "Anything."

Harry nodded. He whirled, and strode away to address the guards.

OoOoOoOoO

There was a stay of execution as the Ministry discussed Draco's fate at Harry's request. Lucius found it all very distasteful. He stared down at the headline; **_RELUCTANT DEATH EATER TO GO FREE? _**Sniffing, he folded the paper, waiting.

The Floo flickered in his tiny flat, and a man stepped through, shaking the ashes from his cloak and charcoal hair. The visitor looked up, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, and leaving a smudge of soot behind.

Lucius stood, quelling his anxiety. "Well?"

"They've commuted his sentence. It was an effort, but they'll even consider parole at some point—if he can prove himself rehabilitated." The green eyes were tired.

Lucius let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, leaning heavily on the back of his chair. "Thank Merlin."

"Thank _me_," Potter said sharply. "You owe me a life, Malfoy—yours."

Lucius glared down his nose at the ruffian. "What would you have me do? Throw myself out the window?"

"No," the young hero said curtly. "You're going to serve me, incompetent as you are at that. I have a manor, now, and an image to maintain. Since Hermione convinced all the house elves to take on freedom and help defeat Voldemort, I have no one to keep the place up. That's where you come in."

Lucius paled. It was a demeaning, revolting proposition. "Very well. I've served madmen before."

Harry gave him the ghost of a smile. He conjured a bit of paper, and handed it to the man. "This is my address. I'll expect you first thing Saturday. Don't bother bringing anything with. You won't be allowed to keep it."

The former Death Eater clenched the note in his fist, and watched the arrogant little monster disappear back through the Floo.

OoOoOoOoO

"This will be your uniform," Harry said, gesturing to the hangar.

The man's face was aghast. "You _can't._ A butler? My god, the humiliation!"

"I can, and I will, Malfoy. You forced _your_ servants to wear pillowcases. I hardly think a wardrobe of white bow ties, waistcoats, and white gloves will unman you."

"This is the sort of thing my mother threatened me with when I refused to eat my vegetables," said Malfoy, looking as though he might cry. "You're a sick man, Mister Potter. A sadist beyond the likes of which I've ever seen."

"That's Mister Potter, _sir, _and you were _this close _to getting the French maid's outfit instead, so count yourself lucky."

"But…there are little gold lions embroidered on the pockets," Lucius whined delicately.

"Yes, Molly Weasley did those, and you'll be sure to thank her for them when she comes round to Christmas dinner," Harry said.

Lucius swallowed hard. "Yes, Mister Potter…sir."

OoOoOoOoO

It was an odd sort of domesticity, but nothing as bad as Lucius had feared. He'd certainly have treated Potter worse had their roles been reversed. The boy required little enough—food, clean clothing, an orderly house, and the odd argument to liven things up—and, in return, much of Lucius' time was his own, and Fridays off to visit Draco.

On the whole, except for the monotony, Lucius had little to complain of.

"Malfoy! Damn it, it's half past six; where's supper?" Harry's voice charged angrily into the kitchen, where Lucius was reading _Faust_.

Harry tramped into the room, breathing heavily through his nose.

"Look, Pot—_Mister _Potter, if you can't keep your temper, you ought to at _least _try to hold onto your dignity. You ought to have made me come to you. And my god!" he exclaimed, dropping his book and leaping to his feet. "What muck are you trodding all over my clean floors? You're _sopping! _You were out flying again, in this awful weather, weren't you? _Weren't_ you?"

Harry grumbled, allowing his manservant to strip him of his offensively muddy clothing. "I don't need a mother, you know," he said sullenly.

"No, what you need is a _brain, _apparently—Mister Potter, sir. And the _reason _supper isn't ready is that you were out again, and I had no idea when or if you'd be back."

"I always come back," Harry responded. His eyes were rather dull, his hair wet and windswept. "I've nowhere else to _go_."

Lucius paused, now disrobing the careless youth more slowly. "You could always visit the Weasleys," he suggested. "Molly Weasley sends fretful letters about you at least once a week."

The young man shrugged languidly, a drop of rain trickling down his now-bare chest. Lucius averted his eyes. "Too many empty seats at the table," Harry said softly.

The older wizard bit back the retort that she still had four other children, knowing it was tactless and would lead to an unnecessary fight. And really, he hated the look of anguish that blossomed on Harry's face whenever the youngest Weasley boy was mentioned. "Well, you're going to catch cold now. Get to bed, and I'll fetch some soup."

Harry smiled at him faintly. "Thank you."

OoOoOoOoO

"How was Draco today?"

"In somewhat better spirits, I think. He didn't try to throw anything at me, which is always a good sign," Lucius responded, looking up from his dusting.

Harry couldn't hold back a crooked grin at that. "Ungrateful little beast," he muttered. "You let him get away with too much."

Lucius shrugged. "He was a blessing. Narcissa and I were…not altogether fond of one another, but we both adored our son."

Harry frowned a little, looking away. "Oh. He was lucky—to have parents that cared for him."

This seemed to bring the man to a halt for a long moment. "Perhaps not so lucky. Were he not my son, he would not be where he is."

"He _is _lucky," Harry insisted. "You gave up your freedom to give him a chance to earn it, later. A lot of fathers wouldn't have made that kind of sacrifice."

Lucius turned his back, his hair a silvery waterfall. "It wasn't such a sacrifice; I had almost nothing to lose."

Harry was silent for a long moment before taking another sip of his wine. "I know what you mean," he murmured.

"You ought to entertain more," said the blond after a length.

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "None of the people I'd like could attend—Ron and Hermione are both dead, most of my classmates and friends are complete strangers now, and the only person I'm even comfortable talking to is—" he broke off suddenly.

"Is?" A haughty eyebrow rose.

"Is you," said Harry with a gulp. "Is you." He looked away. "Besides, I hate crowds and noise and—"

"And friendship and joy and laughter and _living_, because they all end in pain. Am I right, Mister Potter? Sir? You didn't die with them. Perhaps you wish you did, but you did not. Stop punishing yourself for something you couldn't help. It's so pathetically maudlin."

Harry stared at the man for a moment, then laughed quietly. "You're something else, you know that? Something else."

Lucius inclined his head just a little. "Thank you, Mister Potter—_sir._"

OoOoOoOoO

Lucius sucked in an outraged breath as he opened the door. "No vagrants, and no soliciting!" he snapped, slamming it shut. There was another knock immediately. "Go away!"

"What's that?" Harry inquired, coming out of the parlour.

"Nothing you need concern yourself with," Malfoy responded stiffly. "Just that penniless werewolf, probably looking for handouts."

"Lupin, you mean? For heaven's sake, let him in!" Harry said, hurrying to open the door. Lucius boggled. "I _invited _him."

"But—but—_why_?"

Harry threw the door back. "So good to see you, Remus!" he said, beaming. "You _said _I ought to entertain more," he added to Malfoy.

"I _meant_ you ought to be _bettering _yourself, enjoying your _peers_—lords and ladies and whatnot—not half breeds and itinerants! I despair, I really do."

"Remus is my friend, and you'll treat him like you would _any _guest—which is _well_, damn you. And no pouting!" he called out as Lucius left in a huff.

"Good help is so hard to find," Lupin remarked.

Malfoy slammed the door behind him, seething.

OoOoOoOoO

Harry was surprised when Malfoy was cold to him at tea. "Scone, sir?" the man offered, setting the silver platter on the small table. "And a plate for your _guest_, as well," Lucius added with a sour smile, smacking the plate down in front of Remus.

Harry heaved a sigh. "Why don't you join us?" It was common for Lucius to take his tea with Harry; Harry would become bored and depressed otherwise.

"No thank you, Mister Potter, _sir. _I'm sure I won't be needed for entertainment purposes today." He swanned off again, leaving Harry feeling somewhat hurt. He didn't _use _Lucius. And he'd hardly thought their conversations were excruciating for the man.

"Just ignore him, Harry," Remus advised, with a tiny bit of a smile. "He can't help it. He's just spoiled."

"_I _don't spoil him," Harry objected.

Remus merely laughed, changing the subject.

OoOoOoOoO

Lucius eyed the men at the billiard table with ill humour. He watched as Lupin patted Potter on the back after a particularly good bank shot. Harry grinned up at the man. Did Potter know what a twisted old wreck the werewolf really was? Lucius couldn't fathom having the man around. It was a complete mystery.

At supper he tipped a bowl of soup on the man. Remus yelped.

"_So _sorry," Lucius said snidely. "You'd best get off the robes before you burn," he added, yanking the wolf's clothing off. "My goodness, you're just a _mass _of scar tissue, aren't you?" he noted. "How awful for you."

"Malfoy," Harry said, his face red with fury. "You are _not _to throw food on my guests, even if you don't care for them. We both know you're far too graceful to do it on accident. And you are _not _allowed to undress them, for that matter." He waved his wand, vanishing the stains. "You're dismissed for the evening."

Malfoy frowned. "But you've not even started the second course, and I—"

"Get. Out," the impertinent boy tyrant ordered.

Lucius bowed stiffly, glaring at Lupin. "Very well. _Mister _Potter _sir._"

OoOoOoOoO

Harry was terribly embarrassed by Lucius' lack of manners, but Remus seemed to find it very funny. "He's grown terribly possessive of you, hasn't he?" he remarked.

"Don't be stupid. He's just…" Harry gestured rather wildly, spilling some of his wine. "He's just Lucius Malfoy, that's all. Don't expect to understand him."

"Just cherish him, then?" Remus responded, raising his eyebrows.

Harry flushed. "I didn't say that!"

"It's quite apparent you find him amusing. And he might be a pretentious, self-absorbed twit, but even I have to admit that he's rather attractive, and he seems a good foil for you. Why else would he do what you ask of him?"

Harry gave the man a stern look. "Because I _own _him, basically. I employ him, at any rate. Do you know how long it had been since he'd had a Knut to his name, when I took him in? The manager at his flat told me the only reason she hadn't evicted him was that she was afraid he'd use dark magic on her. And I heard there wasn't a _thing _in the pantry. God knows how long it had been since he'd anything but pride to eat." He shook his head, taking a long sip of the red wine. "He needs me. That's all," Harry said glumly.

"I still say he rather fancies you," Remus replied, taking a drink himself.

"Oh, do shut up." Still, Harry smiled. "I have a vintage '38 bottle of chateau as well, if you care to give it a go."

The werewolf grinned broadly. "Why not?"

OoOoOoOoO

Lucius stalked into the parlour, expecting to find bottles to be thrown out, wine stains to be vanished, and cushions to be straightened.

He was unprepared to see the Boy Who Lived, eyes dark with drink, spread out on the sofa. "Hello, Malfoy," the youth murmured.

Lucius froze. Harry's shirt was undone and untucked, his legs open wide. "What have you been _doing _with that bloody werewolf?" he demanded.

Harry laughed softly. "Are you worried over my virtue?" Lucius didn't respond. "Or is it something else? Is Remus right when he says you want me?"

The blond gave a snort. "That's absolutely ridiculous."

The youth had a dare written in his eyes. "Service me," he ordered. "Sexually."

Lucius leaned over, smelling sweat, cigar smoke, and red wine on the boy. "Very well," he whispered. With a quick tug, he pulled off Harry's shirt and tumbled the brat from the couch.

"OW! What the hell was _that?_" Potter roared.

"Shut up. You don't want to wake the whole house," Lucius admonished. He straddled the boy, pinning his wrists above his head. "Surely you don't want anyone to walk in…" He began a trail of nips and licks along Harry's neck. "…and find you like _this._" One hand flicked out to tweak a small, pink nipple.

Harry moaned softly beneath him. "This isn't what I meant," he whispered.

Lucius sucked at his lower lip, rosy and silken and wet. "Pity," he murmured. "Next time, you'll have to remember what you're asking for." He dipped his tongue into Harry's mouth, teasing the boy's out, twisting around it erotically. Malfoy pulled back a little. "And hopefully, next time you'll remember to be more specific," he added sweetly.

With a smirk, he grabbed the youth's hips, flipping him onto his stomach. "Whoa—wait a second—I don't—you can't—"

Lucius ignored him, feathering his lips over a slender shoulder blade, down that wriggling spine, flicking the tip of his tongue into the hollow of the small of the youth's back. Harry shuddered at this, falling silent.

He pressed kisses as cool as a breeze down Harry's skin, stroking that firm, magnificent swell of flesh. When he had Harry's pants around his ankles, Lucius ran his fingers up the taut, coltish legs.

Harry shivered again. "Please," he choked.

Spreading the boy's cheeks, Lucius inhaled deeply, enjoying the whine pulled from the brat's throat in response. He ran the side of his face across firm flesh, closing his eyes with pleasure at the mewl Harry made. This was what he'd longed for; his lost sense of control. Here was power, in his fingertips and whispers, in the barest brushes his lips made against downy skin.

With agonizing slowness Lucius began to prepare the boy, taking note of every clenching, every rock of hips, every time his name was exhaled from those parted lips. Harry's eyebrows were knotted together, his hands fisting in the carpet, and Lucius could almost see the blood crackling through his veins.

He turned Harry over and threw one of those Quidditch-muscled legs over his shoulder, jaw tightening as he sank into that young body. Harry sucked in a ragged breath, hands scrambling like spiders over Lucius' shoulders, then digging in, holding on.

Lucius thrust slightly, and their moans met and echoed off one another. He thrust again, bending kiss Harry, biting at the youth's tender mouth. Harry arched against him, fingers creeping up to snatch at Malfoy's hair, finding an anchor there. Harry's tongue battled for dominance, one leg wrapping around the man, trying to force him deeper. The boy suddenly stiffened, his eyelids fluttering, biting a gash in his own lip as he found release.

Lucius staved his own completion off a few more moments, trying to emboss it in his mind—the trembling heat, the musical cadence of Harry's throaty cry, the sheer dizzying lust sputtering through him. He tilted his head down, shut his eyes, and swept his tongue across the boy's bloodied lip, and fell.

OoOoOoOoO

Harry blinked in the bright morning sunshine, cursing the wide-open shades. He flung an arm over his eyes.

"Harry. _Harry_. It looks as though the Hogwarts Express took a detour through your parlour!" Remus was saying, shaking his shoulder determinedly.

Harry gave a moan and finally sat up, looking around. It sort of did look as if a train had run through; a wineglass had fallen and shattered on the hearth, the bottle had spilled, a trickle of burgundy gracing Harry's cream throw rug. Buttons from Harry's shirt were strewn wide, his shirt was rumpled on the floor, his trousers flung atop the billiard table, and his briefs hung precariously from a picture frame.

"I passed Lucius in the hall," Remus informed him. "He said that if you cleaned up after yourself, he might allow you to join him in your bed, later. Then I came in here to find this mess, and you sprawled out on the floor, naked as a jaybird—I thought you were _dead._. Harry, _what happened?_"

Harry sighed a little, letting his head fall back to the floor. He sleepily offered the werewolf a sated smile. "The butler did it."


End file.
